


by (gaynier), naturally

by aiyah



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Clown-to-Clown Communication, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Panic, Sokka is a Trainwreck, They're Just Idiots Meant For Each Other, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26571211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiyah/pseuds/aiyah
Summary: Some people experience their eureka moment during class, at work, or even while walking. It's too bad that Sokka's eureka moment hits him right when he sees his best friend with his hair down.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 761





	by (gaynier), naturally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [constellayetion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellayetion/gifts).



> me: i will do the work i need to do today
> 
> also me: wow okay i did not do the work i promised myself that i would do
> 
> unbeta'd as usual; all mistakes are mine

✦ ✧ ✦

Sokka’s crisis happens on a Tuesday, of course. Tuesday is _obviously_ the worst day of the week. It’s more soul-crushing than Monday—the gatekeeper of exam hell and project deadlines— a constant reminder that _you practically still have pretty much a whole week left in front of you, Sokka, so you better try to make it through the next few days without dying on me now, okay?_

(The internal prep talk from what little remains of his brain isn’t helping. Sokka’s had too many casualties in the form of disappearing brain cells and a nonexistent circadian rhythm that has him up at all hours of the night. He's pretty sure he only has one single brain cell left. La only knows why he thought electrical engineering would pay off. _Think of the ROI, Sokka. Just think of it. You can almost taste it_.)

Not to mention that his crisis isn’t really, well, _a crisis_ , per se. It’s not as bad as, say, failing your first midterm in your introductory Java course, and it isn’t as humiliating as being ghosted by your date in a fancy restaurant. (Here, Sokka wants to clarify that he hasn’t experienced either of these things. He _passed_ that class, okay? ~~Even if it was barely a pass.~~ And he doesn’t have the time to go on dates. It’s just stuff he hears in the halls.)

But anyways—the crisis hits Sokka with all the ease that the bull in the china shop can offer, which basically means that it rushes in all at once and overwhelms him completely. Sokka’s having one of those rare Tuesday afternoons—the ones where he thankfully doesn’t have office hours to hold or review sessions to attend—so naturally, he finds himself sitting at a table in the Jasmine Dragon, the finest coffee shop this side of the Jang Hui River with the drinks to match. It’s only an added bonus that everything on the menu only costs a few yuan at most, even though the drinks clearly retail at a higher price. At least that’s what Zuko says. Sokka puts his faith in his budding economist.

( _Zuko?_ you ask. _What’s he doing here?_ )

(Chill. If you just give me just a second to explain, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.)

So where were we? Right. The Jasmine Dragon on a Tuesday afternoon. Sokka’s neck-deep in whatever pset Professor Jeong Jeong’s decided to sic on his entire advanced circuits class after Jet—certified class clown and professor’s bane of existence extraordinaire—had the audacity to fall asleep in the front row, much to his classmates’ amusement and the professor’s annoyance.

 _If you’re going to fall asleep, at least you can sit in the back of the classroom, or pick a different class to sleep in_ , Sokka thinks. He’s miserable, one hand feverishly writing out rubbish calculations in a practically unreadable font in his notebook, the other hand clutching a gargantuan cup of Thai iced tea with extra sugar and extra ice like his entire life depends on it. (The sugar helps with the adrenaline. The ice… uh, it also helps with the adrenaline.) He’s also tied his hair up into the tightest wolftail he can handle to help him concentrate. Sokka needs all the help he can get if he’s going to power through his fifteen problems.

Well, more like sixteen problems. There’s the fact that Zuko’s sitting across from him, looking like he’s literally just gone through a wringer and been left out to dry on a clothesline flapping in the wind. Sokka may be the picture perfect example of a sleep-deprived, sanity-lacking engineering student, but he thinks his best friend is close to beating him in that department. Who even knows what the economics professors puts their students through? Graphs? Tables? Sokka shudders. He doesn’t even want to know.

Zuko sighs, and Sokka wonders if the gigantic circles under his best friend’s eyes are just another step towards Zuko’s ultimate goal of becoming a panda. (I mean, all he has to do at this rate is to drop out of college and take up bamboo eating full-time—and goal accomplished. He’s almost there.)

“My head hurts so much,” Zuko groans. “I don’t want to look at these graphs anymore.”

Sokka wearily holds up his notebook, his muscles screaming in exertion at that mere movement. “I mean, you wanna trade?”

“No thanks.” Zuko squints at the garbled font and shakes his head. “I can barely handle figuring out sunk costs. I don’t think I’m going to understand anything that you’re working on.” He scratches his head. “I think I have a migraine coming on.”

“You could let your hair down, yanno?” Honestly, Sokka’s never actually seen Zuko’s hair down. It’s been in a topknot as long as he can remember, all tightly-pulled and rigidly held by whatever industrial-strength hair band Zuko uses. Sokka remembers his first thought being that the topknot looked ridiculous (I mean, only hipsters would put their hair in a topknot, right?) and then proceeding to accidentally saying it out loud in front of Zuko on move-in day. The look of shock on Zuko’s face—not to mention the hysterical laughter behind him, no thanks to his younger sister, Azula—had bordered on scandalized. It’s a miracle that Sokka had somehow managed to charm in Zuko’s good graces again (it probably has something to do with all the AYCE KBBQ, not to mention the countless hours spent in the engineering study rooms with a pack of Red Bull in between them). They’re actually friends now, and four years at Gaoling University has given Sokka a chance to mend that bridge. Not that Zuko seems to mind anymore, of course. Why else would he be studying with Sokka then?

But the look that Zuko shoots at him now is one of pure horror. “ _No_.”

Frustrated, Sokka taps his pen against his knee under the table. “Dude, I’m serious. Like, I’m not a premed or anything, but putting your hair up like _that_ —” the pen resurfaces and gestures vaguely towards Zuko’s head, “—can’t be good for you. Seriously.”

“It’s fine.”

“You tryna be like JoJo Siwa or something?” Sokka immediately conjures up images of teenage girls with tightly-pulled ponytails and frilly bows dancing to pop songs. Then immediately whooshes them away. Zuko looks nothing like JoJo Siwa. Zuko’s way too handsome to be like JoJo Siwa.

“Huh?”

 _Damn. Forgot that Zuko doesn’t know what TikTok is_. “I mean, you’re definitely going to lose your mind or something if you keep it up like that all the time.”

“Sokka, I’ve had my hair in a topknot since forever.”

“Don’t take it out when you go to sleep?”

“I do? Take it out, I mean.”

Sokka throws his hands in the air. “Zuko, if your headache is gonna bother you, you should just let it down. Let your blood have a chance to meet your brain for once. Maybe it’ll help with the brain cells.”

“Are you implying that I’m lacking _brain cells_.” It’s not even a question.

“No?” Sokka rolls his eyes before focusing on his pset again. “Whatever. I’m just saying, dude. It’s okay to, like, chill out once in a while. Let your hair down. Relax. Let me run my fingers through it.”

“You want to _what?_ ”

 _Shit. Guess he hasn’t heard of MAGIC! either_. “It’s a song, Zuko.”

“Fine, _fine_. If it’s going to help with my migraine.”

“Damn, that headache must really be some—” and Sokka’s completely speechless. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Diddly-squat.

Because his crisis has just entered the chat: Zuko’s hair.

Okay. It’s probably because Sokka’s never actually seen Zuko with his hair down before (and the silly-looking topknot _really_ doesn’t help with Sokka’s creative imagination), but he’s never realized just how long Zuko’s hair actually is, how it pools at Zuko’s shoulders before rippling down his back in a smooth wave of liquid graphite. The dim lamps in the Jasmine Dragon aren’t doing Zuko’s hair any justice, the glowing lights twinkling like fireflies against a pitch-black sky. The hair looks tantalizing, and it takes all of Sokka’s remaining brain power not to just reach out and touch it, to see if it’s really as smooth as it looks.

“—kka? _Sokka?_ ” Zuko’s waving his hand in front of Sokka, a look of concern on his face. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Huh?” Sokka blinks twice. He’s surprised that he’s still coherent at this point. “Huh?”

( _You’re doing great, Sokka_.)

( _Shut up, single brain cell_.)

“I was asking if you wanted to get some dinner soon? I think I need a break from theories and graphs.” Zuko stands up and stretches his arms, hair cascading down past his waist and _oh, spirits_. Sokka’s brain has just left the chat.

What a Tuesday, honestly.

✦ ✧ ✦

Let’s get one thing straight: Sokka has absolutely nothing against long hair.

He likes to think he has fairly long hair, in fact. It’s not as pretty or as shiny as Katara’s, but Sokka does do a pretty good job adhering to his conditioning regime. His hair is dark, almost the color of hickory or umber. _Just like nature_ , Mom used to say. _You’re a child of the earth, Sokka. Remember that_.

Sokka does his best to remember his mother’s words, but long hair is definitely a nuisance, especially when you’re in the lab trying to tinker around with gears and parts smaller than your fingernail—the last thing you need is a sheet of darkness going over your eyes. So Sokka shaves an undercut and keeps the rest of his hair tied into a wolftail ( _not_ a ponytail; there’s a difference) during the day. It’s the least he can do to focus on his work.

But ever since seeing Zuko’s hair _for the first time_ (yes, the topknot definitely doesn’t count), Sokka can’t get the image of pure black cascading around Zuko’s head. (Yes, the topknot definitely doesn’t count, especially how that dull, lifeless-looking hairdo does miracles to hide Zuko’s beautiful hair.)

Sokka’s never been jealous of someone else’s hair before—that is, until now. _How the fuck is Zuko’s hair better than mine?_ followed by _I definitely need to ask him for his hair care routine_ and the subsequent _I bet he lets it air dry naturally, right? Damn. I should do that more often. Mom always said that air drying is better than a blow dryer_.

Discovering Zuko’s hair also has some unintentional consequences on the rest of Sokka’s psyche. Two weeks later peeks around the corner only to find him in even worse shape than before. Now it’s _his_ turn to become the panda, with huge rings under his eyes as he mopes from class to class as he nurses cup after cup of lukewarm coffee just to stay awake. Most days, he can’t even be bothered to put on his contacts, opting to shove on his spare pair of glasses and pray that Professor Pakku in physics finally decides to take an Empathy 101 class and realize that _writing notes in literal size 12 font on the board is not conducive to actual learning or reading comprehension, alright? Please_.

(Sadly, the prayer never seems to work. And it’s Sokka who finally gets a headache just trying to decipher Pakku’s writing on the board.)

No, Sokka’s classes aren’t keeping him up for all-nighters. (He actually got 90% on Professor Jeong Jeong’s pset, okay?) And all of his projects are going pretty smoothly—with the exception of the one he needs to prepare for engineering ethics. Sokka needs to actually crack open a book for that one. No, he’s bothered by something else entirely, something that has absolutely nothing to do with work or classes or his ROI.

( _What is: Zuko?_ )

( _Goddamnit, this isn’t a Jeopardy game_.)

But yes. It’s Zuko—or more specifically, Zuko’s hair. Ever since the Jasmine Dragon crisis (yes, that’s what Sokka insists on calling it, because he definitely has a flair for the dramatic), Zuko’s actually been wearing his hair down more often. Which isn’t a bad thing—except for the fact the fact that Zuko’s hair is a complete and utter distraction and Sokka just can’t seem to focus on his work anymore—but that’s not the point, exactly. Point is, Sokka can’t stop staring at him.

(I mean the hair. Not Zuko himself—wait, who are we kidding here? He’s staring at Zuko.)

On Wednesday, Sokka covertly peeks at Zuko in between bites of ramen as they eat dinner together after classes. _His hair is black as ebony_ , Sokka takes a sip of the tonkotsu broth. Snow White ain’t got anything on Zuko Huo.

On Thursday—over another round of Jeong Jeong’s terrible psets, no less—Sokka wonders what sort of shampoo Zuko uses to keep his hair so shiny and soft-looking. _With hair like that, he can clearly be a hair model_ , he thinks to himself as he scribbles down a vague answer from his notes, his single brain cell clearly occupied with someone much more visually appealing than numbers on a piece of paper. _Or just a model, period. Zuko’s pretty enough_. He’d definitely blow Gigi Hadid and that Kardashian sister out of the water.

On Friday, Sokka catches himself from reaching over and actually _touching_ the hair. They’re hanging out at Zuko’s apartment, watching _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_ on the huge flatscreen TV Zuko has in his living room. Zuko’s watching it for his East Asian cinema studies class. Sokka? Sokka’s just there because he wants to watch a good ol’ wuxia film and there’s nothing better than watching Chow Yun-Fat kick ass. (Or it’s just an excuse so he has more time to hang out with Zuko.)

As Jen chases after Lo on horseback across the desert on screen, Sokka sneaks another glance at Zuko and wrinkles his nose. It’s that damn hair strand, the one that hangs loose right over Zuko’s left cheek and dangles tantalizingly out of Sokka’s reach, the one he _swears_ has been bothering him ever since his friend decided to let his hair down more often than not. Did Zuko always look so calm and peaceful? Did he always smile like that before? Did his hair always look practically flawless?

 _Maybe he uses some super expensive conditioner_ , Sokka tells himself, because that’s obviously the most logical reasoning for Zuko’s hair to look like that. But Sokka’s also not the most subtle person on the planet, and he belatedly comes to this realization that _this-is-a-bad-idea_ when he absentmindedly reaches over to tuck the offending strand of hair behind Zuko’s ear, fingers barely grazing over the mottled scar over Zuko’s cheek.

“Sokka?” and Zuko’s looking at him with those eyes, all hazel-hued and bright. Sokka pulls back like he’s just been burned, nearly jumping off the couch in surprise.

“ _Hair_ ,” he manages to bleat out helplessly before his elbow collides against the hardwood floor with a painful thud. Sokka’s heart is pounding relentlessly at a heart-aching staccato.

“Hair?” Zuko reaches up to his face and touches his hair. “What about it?”

“It’s nothing.” Sokka’s so glad that the dim lighting is hiding his face. He’s pretty sure his blushing level is over nine thousand at this point. _Oh, like literally yeet me to the astral plane now, please. I can’t deal with this any longer_.

But there’s no sudden alien spaceship to beam him up or even a ray of light beckoning him to the heavens, so Sokka’s forced to pull himself back on the couch and to nurse his wounds and to resume his stream-of-consciousness, partially about Zuko’s hair but mostly about his growing realization that there’s something seriously wrong with him.

It only gets worse during one drunken night of Truth Or Dare, when Yue dares Zuko to put on eyeliner and keep it on for the rest of the game. Sokka’s single brain cell takes a nosedive straight into his stomach when Zuko stumbles out of the bathroom with eyeliner smeared all over his face but somehow manages to look like he just stepped off the cover of _Vogue_ or some fashion magazine. _It’s not just his hair_ , the single brain cell meeps from the depths of Sokka’s chest. _It’s definitely not just the hair_.

“I think it's just the hair, Suki,” Sokka says during lunch the day after, still nursing a slight headache from the impromptu night of drinking. He’s eating with Suki for a change, the two of them crammed into a tiny booth in the corner of the engineering café before advanced astrophysics (for Suki) and normal, baby physics (for Sokka). “Literally. It’s driving me insane.”

Suki drags her spoon through her cup of soup, the smell of spices wafting through the air. “What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know how to describe it, okay!” Sokka nearly throws his fork in frustration. “It’s just, like, every time I see his hair, like, I can’t function. I literally can’t. I freeze up. My head hurts. I can’t even carry on a normal conversation with him at that point. It’s the hair, I’m telling you. I think I’m going crazy, Suki. I really think I am.”

“No, you’re not going crazy.” Suki drops her spoon and pats Sokka’s hand comfortingly. “You’re just in love.”

Sokka’s single brain cell takes the opportunity to gleefully short-circuit. It takes another minute for his systems to come back online. And then it takes a few more seconds for him to properly digest the words that Suki’s just said.

“ _No_.” Sokka shakes his head.

“Yes.”

“ _No_.” Sokka shakes his head even harder.

“Oh, yes. Now stop shaking your head so hard. You’re going to end up giving yourself whiplash or becoming a human bobblehead, and I don’t want that responsibility on my hands.” Suki rummages through her bag and pulls out a pack of Advil, tossing it in Sokka’s direction.

“You’re joking.” Sokka takes a swig of water to wash down the Advil.

“Listen to me.” Suki presses her hands on either side of Sokka’s face. “You asked me to figure out what’s wrong with you and I did. There’s nothing wrong, Sokka. It’s just a simple case of _crushing on someone_.”

“But—I mean—but—y’know— _Zuko! It’s Zuko!_ ” Sokka waves his hands in the air. The fork actually goes flying this time. “I can’t be in love with my best friend! That’s, like, totally against all known rules of homiesexuality!”

“That’s what you’re calling it?” Suki looks completely unimpressed. “No wonder you’re only coming to a revelation now. You’ve been repressing yourself for so long, you’ve practically forgotten what it means to fall in love.”

“But I can’t be!”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s not right!” Sokka’s teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown. “I just can’t be in love with my best friend, okay? That goes against everything. Literally everything. I shouldn’t even be talking—”

“ _Sokka Qanik, listen to me_ ,” Suki thunders, and the entire engineering café seems to quake under her voice. It’s a wonder that no one else is looking over at the guy losing his mind and the girl who started it all. “ _Calm the fuck down_.”

(Suki can be quite terrifying when she puts her mind to it.)

Sokka squeaks. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t _ma’am_ me,” Suki sighs, sinking back into her chair and crossing her arms. “Look. I’m not going to tell you to do anything because that’s none of my business. But I care about you. And by the stupid transitive property, that means I need to care about Zuko too—”

“Hold on. Why is Zuko connected to me?”

“—and if you’d just be quiet for a moment, I’m getting there, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Anyways, like I was saying before, to hell with your stupid rules of homiesexuality,” Suki says. “Who says you can’t be in love with your best friend? Hell, I’m in love with my best friend _and_ dating her, too. I don’t care about what other people think and you shouldn’t, either. If you’re in love with Zuko, then you’re in love with Zuko. That doesn’t change anything. Besides,” she raises an eyebrow, “I always thought rules were meant to be broken.”

Sokka slides down into his chair. “I guess you’re right. I’m overreacting.”

_Or you’re just totally, completely, 100%ly whipped for your best friend._

( _Gee thanks, single brain cell_.)

( _No problem, Sokka_.)

✦ ✧ ✦

Predictably, nothing happens for the next few weeks. Sure, Sokka has the convenient excuse that _finals are coming up_ and _shitcrapfuck I haven’t finished my final projects yet_ followed by the ultimate _Pakku is such a bitch and I have to go to his office hours just to decipher his goshawful handwriting_ , but everyone (well, just Yue and Suki, honestly) knows that it’s just an excuse for him to delay the inevitable: facing his feelings.

You see, Sokka’s had the unfortunate habit of bottling up his feelings whenever he’s down and storing them somewhere in the back of his mind. Look—here’s his “ _I fucked up during science fair and almost got disqualified from ISEF_ ” memory, nestled neatly next to “ _I peed my pants during that haunted house field trip in second grade because it was scary_ ” right across from “ _I want to talk to Dad about how I feel about guys but I’m scared of how he’ll react_ ”. There’s practically an entire U-Haul dedicated to these feelings, feelings that Sokka avoids confronting in favor of continuing on with whatever he’s doing. He shoves “ _I think I’m falling in love with my best friend and it goes against all the laws of homiesexuality_ ” into the nearest empty space. It’s a pretty efficient system (I mean, Sokka _is_ an engineering student), but even systems have a tendency to weaken over time, especially when it comes to Zuko.

And Zuko’s everywhere, hanging around Sokka over the weekend or snuggling beside him on movie night or drunkenly singing karaoke at two in the morning after a rough round of econ presentations. He hasn’t put his hair up in a topknot for weeks. It’s driving Sokka to the brink of exhaustion, to the point where Yue and Suki corner him in an empty classroom after recitation.

“You should really talk to him,” Yue begins, eyes softening with worry. “You really need to, okay?”

But Sokka’s stubborn as hell. “No.”

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this right now,” Suki says in frustration. “Look, Sokka. You’re either going to have to wise up and talk to him _or_ it’s all going to come crashing down on you some day. And I don’t want to be around when that happens.”

Sokka glares at both of them. “No.”

“Fine, I give up.” Suki sighs dramatically and loops her arm around Yue’s waist. “Suit yourself. But don’t come crying to us when something happens.”

“I won’t.”

—and he doesn’t, because that something that Suki was talking about? Oh, it definitely happens, but not in the way you’re expecting. That _something_ happens when Sokka’s over at Zuko’s place one Saturday, the two of them sitting on the couch and playing video games—specifically, Smash. Sokka’s had a rough week of classes—it’s mostly been review sessions for finals, but _still_ —and he’s been spending hours watching an infinite stream of lectures on Panopto, eyes glazing over because _stupid Pakku still hasn’t learned that literally no one can read his stupid tiny-ass, dumbass writing_ , which, understandably, feeds into a series of headaches that Sokka’s still recovering from. You can say that he’s definitely blowing off steam by attacking everyone with his bow and his boomerang—digitally, of course. Link has never managed to look so cool on screen, dodging Ganondorf’s attacks like that.

The game ends and Sokka celebrates his win by tossing his controller in the air and catching it, whooping as he reaches out to grab his soju. The only thing stopping him from chugging it is the pale hand that grasps his wrist.

Zuko’s looking at him now, eyebrow furrowed in concentration. “Sokka, we need to talk.”

“Talk? Whaddaya mean? We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

“No,” Zuko frowns. “We’ve been _playing a video game_. You haven’t said a single sentence to me since you barged in after your engineering ethics final.”

“Fair point.”

“That’s not a sentence, Sokka.”

“Hm.”

“Sokka, can we please talk?” Zuko’s lips are quivering.

“Okay, fine.” Sokka closes his eyes and channels all of his power into his single brain cell. _Please, please please—for the love of Tui and all things holy, let me come out of this conversation relatively unscathed_.

( _I mean, I can try? But if it’s about feelings, there’s not much I can do_ , his single brain cell whispers back.)

( _Thanks for the vote of confidence_.)

( _Anytime_.)

When Sokka finally opens his eyes, he’s completely shocked to find Zuko seemingly on the verge of tears, face drooping and hazel eyes glassy and bright as he looks downcast. Even his hair seems dull and untidy, a crow’s nest everywhere.

“Zuko? What’s wrong?”

“Do you not want to talk to me anymore?” Zuko finally says, and his raspy voice cuts straight through Sokka’s heart like a knife. “Is there something I did that made you angry? Is that why you won’t even make eye contact with me anymore?”

 _Huh?_ “Wait, hold on—”

“I was thinking about it, you know,” Zuko rambles on. “About why you started avoiding me. And why you got so cold all of a sudden. And the only thing I can think of is _this_.” He grabs his ponytail accusingly. “It’s my hair, isn’t it.”

“No! I mean—like, I mean kinda but like not really—I mean, _ugh_ —I mean, _no!_ ”

“Ever since that one time,” and Zuko’s full steam ahead, destination: meltdown. “I knew it. Father always said that men having long hair is shameful, that long hair is dishonorable. And I didn’t listen to him because other people told me it looked nice but I kept it in a topknot when he was around and it became a habit but when you—you!” He jabs a finger accusingly towards Sokka. “You told me it was okay to let my hair down. So I did. And then you started ignoring me. And you won’t even look at me, and I’m just scared and terrified that my hair’s been bothering you somehow and that’s why—”

 _Oh_.

( _Oh_ , Sokka’s single brain cell echoes.)

The U-Haul of repressed feelings teeters dangerously in Sokka’s brain before everything explodes in a flash.

“I’m gonna have to stop you right there, dude.” Sokka puts a finger up to Zuko’s lips and wills his heart to calm down just enough for him to get his words out. “I have nothing against you. Or your hair. Or anything like that. It’s just—yanno—it’s just, I was thinking about some things, and I’m sorry if it made it seem like I was ignoring you.”

If the angry look in Zuko’s eyes is telling Sokka anything, it’s that Zuko isn’t convinced.

“Fine, _fine!_ Look, I’ll prove it to you.” Sokka cradles Zuko’s face in his shaking hands. He can’t help thinking about how heartbreakingly beautiful Zuko looks. “ _I am in love with you, Zuko Huo_. And I have been for Tui-knows-how-long, and I’ve just been a wuss because I didn’t want to accept how I was feeling and— _mmph_.”

Whatever Sokka’s planning on saying next evaporates almost instantaneously with the fierce kiss that Zuko presses against his lips. It’s hot and terrifying and tastes just like the shitty soju from the liquor store down the street but that doesn’t even matter anymore because _Zuko is kissing him_. Sokka’s not quite sure he’s ever been kissed like this before, his arms flailing everywhere until he finally wraps them around Zuko’s quivering body and holds on as tightly as he can.

When Zuko finally pulls back for air—well, let’s just say it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Zuko’s blushing crazy crimson, his cheeks flushed the same shade as his scar. Sokka feels a wave of laughter burbling out of his chest and he chuckles quietly, learning forward to brush a tear hanging from the corner of Zuko’s eyelashes.

“I’m in love with you, too.” Those six words hang like a whisper in the air between them.

“Huh?”

Sokka yelps when Zuko pushes him down. “I said, I’m in love with you, you big, stupid oaf. I’ve been in love with you ever since you told me my topknot looked ridiculous and I started to think that maybe, finally, there was someone who understood how I felt about it.”

“Wait a minute. _You’ve liked me since freshman year?_ ”

Zuko bites his lip. “And what are you going to do about it?”

(Oh, that’s distracting.)

Sokka reaches up and runs his fingers through Zuko’s hair. He surges upwards until they’re face to face before reaching back and pulling off his hair tie, smile turning feral when he sees Zuko’s eyes go wide when his hair tumbles down past his shoulders. “I can think of some things, all right.”

✦ ✧ ✦

It turns out that Zuko’s hair care routine consists mostly of Garnier products.

“Oh, worm?” Sokka’s eyes go wide when he reads off the list of things Zuko uses. “We’re definitely a match made in heaven.”

“Why?”

Sokka goes to the bathroom and comes back out, waggling a bottle of half-empty Fructis in Zuko’s direction. “Whaddaya say? I’m _hair_ for you, babe.”

“That’s atrocious.”

“But babe, _please_.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, kudos/comments are appreciated! thanks for reading :>


End file.
